


Rivalry

by Sileas333



Category: Batman (Movies 1989-1997), Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
Genre: Gen, Gotham, Metropolis, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18283316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sileas333/pseuds/Sileas333
Summary: Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne talk philosophy....sorta.  Around realizing that the media in the other guy's city can sometimes be both hilarious and painful.





	Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> Desperately sorry for the formatting, but nothing I do can sweet talk it. HTML wants the stage and won't let Rich Text join the fun, so no paragraphs to speak of. Tried me best, I did. edit---went back to original document and added another hard return after every paragraph. So at least you get breathing room. Two ** have to suffice for italics, alas.
> 
> So Bruce is over in Metropolis for some business stuff and runs into an old friend. I have some back-story of B and S....ah ha ha....the BS show getting off to an interesting start, but I don't think it's necessary to know it in order to follow this along.
> 
> My casting is Dean Cain and, I'm sorry, Val Kilmer. Parts of his movie were ridiculous but I like the stuff he did with his portrayal of Bruce Wayne.
> 
> Oh---ps. No porn here, no ships. (Damn, cuz I have a huge soft spot for Enterprise-D....but I couldn't work it in, alas). So...y'know, nothing to read here. Move along....

“Hey.”

Deep in though, Bruce looked up and was momentarily startled when he saw the door move. Clark nudged the door to the small conference room open and looked around, seeing no one else. “Busy?”

Bruce sat back, tossing a pen onto the table. “Not really. Just going through the zoning info again.” He pulled off his glasses and reached out, setting them on the table, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve seen these figures before.”

“You think it’ll work?” Clark asked. He pushed the door shut, and as an afterthought, twisted the bolt. A quick search of the room revealed no surveillance in the room.

“The property?” Bruce sighed. “I think so. I’m not in love with the location geographically—I was hoping for river access. But under the circumstances....”

“It’s better than the alternative,” Clark agreed. “Land is tight, here in Metro.”

Bruce nodded. “You’re not kidding,” he said in a low voice.

“What you did with the orphanage site......that was—”

“Lucky for me I heard about it. Kicking out an orphanage when I’ve got the funds to put a new building there would have seriously damaged our chances in Metro.”

“Good point,” Clark said, smiling weakly as he leaned on the back of one of the high-backed chairs around the table.

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you....something?” he said tentatively. “You’re the media savvy person. What—what’s the reaction? From your perspective.”

“To....?” Clark prompted.

“Well....I think we’ve been well received. It looks to me like if we begin negotiations for a plant here, especially if we make it clear the intent is for executive as well....”

“You want to know what the popular reaction is,” Clark finished, straightening. “Would you get the popular vote in an election here.”

“Not me,” Bruce corrected. “The company. If Metro saw the WeTech logo here, how do you think it would go over?”

Clark walked slowly down the length of the table to Bruce’s end and pulled back one of the chairs, settling into it. “You’re asking my opinion?”

“...of what you see of people’s reactions.”

Clark shrugged. “Yeah,” he allowed. “I mean, if you’re wondering what Metropolis thinks of a classically Gotham company coming in.....pretty decent,” he said. “It’s not like you’re bringing in a chop sticks factory. Open MRI manufacture is not for–”

“And engineering,” Bruce interrupted. “Never say just ‘manufacture’. Engineering and executive, as soon as possible.”

Clark nodded obligingly. “Right. See, that’s it right there. These aren’t exactly blue-collar jobs. You’re looking for engineering degrees, and don’t believe for a minute what they say about Metro’s brains being overtaxed,” he added firmly. “You can’t walk down the street without bumping into a master’s or a Ph.D. in this town.”

“Insider information,” Bruce said with an almost shy glance. “Don’t write this, but we’re tossing around the idea of locating MRI here. Completely.”

“Completely?” Clark’s jaw hung. “You mean—transferring it all from Gotham to here?”

“And Houston,” Bruce added, nodding. “It’s just talk, only talk right now. There’s pretty strong opposition to that back in Gotham, and even if we did it, we’re talking a very slow process, over the course of a decade or more, phasing it out as people retire.”

“Wow,” Clark said, absently watching as Bruce started to collect the reports in front of him. “How....solid is this?”

“Board room hot air,” Bruce said, slipping the bound material into a thick leather portfolio. “Nothing more. It depends on how things go here in Metro, and how the Gotham side reacts to these developments.”

“How much—I mean, corporate structure-wise, what’s the percentage we’re talking about, here?” Clark asked.

“Well, it’s actually not very much,” Bruce allowed. “Open MRI is the major product for WeTech right now, has been for about the past ten years, but that will eventually change, of course. Most of the executive structure will probably stay in Gotham, and certainly the parent company will stay in Gotham. But off the top of my head, we’re probably talking.....right now, about twenty to twenty-five percent of WeTech, if the move was to happen today.”

Clark gave him a bright eyed look, reaching inside his suit coat to an inside pocket. “Can I turn this into an interview?”

Bruce smiled, lowering his gaze. “Right now, there’s not much to stand on,” he said, shaking his head. “Like I said, just hot air.”

“If something changes....?”

“If something changes, I know which Metro reporters to tip off,” Bruce said, still smiling. “Consider the market cornered.”

“Thank you,” Clark said, satisfied. “You’re off the hook, this time.” He sat back, letting the digital recorder go. “Oh, that’s another thing,” he said, after a quick glance at the door again. “Thank you,” he said deliberately. Bruce stared back at him, uncomprehending, and Clark added, “For a certain piece of mob intelligence. Emilio.” He watched as realization of the subject matter dawned, and caught the nervous glance to the door as well. “It’s ok,” Clark said reassuringly. “I checked the room when I came in and there’s no surveillance here.”

Bruce leaned forward, self-consciously rearranging part of a newspaper left on the table. “I guess I forget who I’m talking to,” he said quietly. Clark noticed that the other man didn’t often look him in the eye when the subject of dual lives was brought up. They hadn’t had very many opportunities to talk in person, but he had picked up on this peculiarity early on.

“I didn’t forget why I came in here!” Clark said cheerfully. “I was looking for a chance to catch you.”

“It would probably be appropriate for me to thank you,” Bruce returned quietly, still fingering the crease in the newspaper. “He’s been a bit of a lieutenant in Gotham as well, and at one point we had him fingered as a potential boss.”

“Really? So that’s how you knew it,” Clark said, sitting back.

“It was luck, actually,” Bruce returned suddenly, now meeting his gaze. “The only reason I had the names was because of a case we’re currently working on back in Gotham. It was in the ancillary, background file, and I had just happened to glance at it in passing in the police reports I was sent. If we hadn’t been on that other case right now, I wouldn’t have been any the wiser.”

“Luck, phenomenal memory, or flat-out I.Q., either way, thank you.” He watched as Bruce finally picked up the newspaper section, opening it up from the haphazard way it had been folded. He was starting to fold it into neat quarters when a photo on the front section caught Clark’s eye.

“Wait!” He reached out and grabbed the newspaper section, pulling it out of Bruce’s hands. He stopped himself from lasering the photo and story out of the page and instead stood up, wadding up the section in his hands and looking around for an appropriate receptacle for it.

“Excuse me?” Bruce was staring at him in startled confusion.

“Hang on—” He had hoped to find a shredder, but there was none. There was a stylishly shaped wastebasket near the door, though, and he contented himself with sailing the ball of tightly formed newsprint into it with enough force to knock the container sharply against the nearby wall.

“It wasn’t a copy of the DP,” Bruce said slowly, trying to cautiously guess the reason for the sudden display of frustration. Clark slowed in his sharp movements, heaving a sigh and staring at the ceiling.

“This was a rival newspaper that reported on a completely inappropriate event staged by some perfect idiots, and please don’t make me fill in–”

“Are you talking the city hall protests?” Bruce interrupted.

Clark’s stare snapped over to Bruce. “You saw it?” he asked, despair mingling with some fear.

After a moment, he was treated to a relatively rare event–a full-throated laugh from Bruce Wayne. For a moment, Clark wasn’t sure what to make of the response, and he shook his head. “I’m talking about the sign-waving morons that desperately need an encounter with reality—all I said was some information I got from Batman helped lead to the arrest and please, stop laughing, I don’t think this is very funny,” Clark finished plaintively, leaning on the table with both arms. Bruce had turned toward the windows in an effort to calm himself, even covering his mouth, but he was still shaking with laughter. “You may find this amusing, but I find it insulting and embarrassing,” Clark said firmly, still not getting a serious response. “Why don’t you try choking or coughing, or something,” he muttered to himself. “Underline the hilarity.”

Bruce slapped the table with an open palm. “Mr. Kent!” he managed. “Give it a rest!”

“Perhaps you didn’t read the story,” Clark said condescendingly. “They’re ready to circulate a petition!” Bruce looked at him in surprise, nearly sober, and then started laughing again, shaking his head. Clark threw his hands in the air. “This is pathetic!”

“Clark, a small group of people with ‘anti-Batman’ signs is hardly a concern,” Bruce said, voice still weak from the laughter. “Honestly. This shouldn’t concern you.”

“It *obviously* concerns me,” Clark shot back, hot again. “When people letter signs saying Superman can kick Batman from here to kingdom come, it concerns me!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was a mistake–it made the other man start laughing again, doubling over in the chair. Clark crossed his arms on his chest, glaring down at the other man from all of his six foot three inches. “If this was happening to you, I doubt you’d be laughing.”

“Clark, I don’t pay any attention to that,” Bruce said, making a supreme effort to tame his laughter. “I don’t mean to make light of your reaction. I mean no disrespect, but there are a couple of points here,” he said, gaining control of his laughter, if not a smile. “First of all, I’m used to this. I’ve told you Batman doesn’t have a clean image–there’s protests in *Gotham*, sometimes,” he emphasized. “So don’t imagine I’m offended.”

“Doesn’t erase the fact that *I’m* offended—”

“Second, I know perfectly well that this display—this isn’t you,” Bruce continued, as though Clark had never spoken. “It’s a small group of people who’ve set their egos on a distant land, and now they perceive a threat to this land. This doesn’t represent your mind on the matter at all.”

“You’ve got that right!”

“Thirdly,” Bruce continued, now serious, “and I say this with all due respect....very respectfully, I’d like to suggest tougher skin,” he said gently, almost timidly. “There may be partisan—”

“ ‘Tougher skin’?” Clark repeated, incredulous, nearly laughing his frustration. “Excuse me, but even tough skin has its limits! I can certainly understand the occasional slight, but saying something like ‘there’s only room for one’ and referring to you as the ‘Gotham pretender’ is entirely out of line,” he said, his clear voice dropping to a near growl as Bruce tried to hide another laugh behind his hand. “They have no idea what you are! They need a map to locate clue number one.”

Bruce gave up on hiding the laugh. “Clark, I’ve heard this,” he said, shaking his head. “I spent a great deal of time spreading rumors about *myself* in Gotham. There’s still a surprising number of people who firmly believe I’m a story the PD’s made up to cut down on small-time punks. Bottom line,” he said, still smiling. “Sticks and stones, Clark, sticks and stones. Let them say what they want, but the fact remains that some information I passed to you enabled Superman to take a mob man off the streets, and it should also close a few murder cases, not just here but back in Gotham as well. That’s what we’re after, here. Certainly you would do the same for me.”

“But I’ll bet you my next three paychecks that the Gotham public and press wouldn’t respond in so asinine a fashion.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Make it your flying ability and we’ve got a bet.”

“Actually.....” Clark looked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Something wrong?” Bruce asked, watching with some anxiety as Clark headed for the door.

“No—just going to go get something. Stay here.” He unlocked the door and hesitated for a moment, then appeared to reach some kind of decision. He left the conference room, closing the door with a soft click.

 

 

“Alright,” Clark announced when he’d shut the door to the conference room. “Here in my hands is a local copy of the Globe,” he said, dropping several pounds of newsprint onto the table with a sharp thump. He began to separate the sections as Bruce got to his feet, reaching for his glasses. “Front section.....Society–probably not. Nation, here we go,” Clark said, sliding the sections out of the newspaper.

Bruce caught one of the sections before it slid to the floor. “Wait a minute.....this is cold,” he commented. “Why is—where did you get this?”

“Local copy.” Clark turned to the front page and pointed to the bold print in the upper right corner. “Got it in Gotham.” He continued matter-of-factly sorting through the sections for a few moments before noting the lack of sound or movement to his left.

He looked up just in time to see Bruce turn slowly away, his jaw hanging. “ ‘In Gotham’, he says.....”

Clark smiled. “Get used to it.”

“Breath of fresh air?”

“No, a desire to show you that your hometown knows how to handle the situation,” Clark corrected, serious again as he separated the sections he wanted and pushed the rest to one side.

“You’re assuming that they’ve marked the comment you made here in Metro.”

“Well, there’s always the possibility that they didn’t notice, yes, but considering the fact that it was a short news conference, no matter.....how short it was......hmmm.” Clark’s voice had become soft and absent as he read, but now he trailed off, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other hand supporting his chin.

“What is it?” Bruce returned to that side of the table, scanning the sections. “What are you reading?”

Clark had started smiling, and before Bruce found the correct section, Clark quickly picked it up and held it close, hiding the print. “Good thing we didn’t bet.”

“Clark, what are you hiding?” As he took a step towards Clark, the other man backed up.

“I’ve got an interesting column here I’d like to enjoy.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked, frustrated. He stopped advancing and Clark stopped his retreat.

“Now, a column does not a protest make–this is only one person, and I’m quite certain it’s in jest,” Clark explained, slowly easing the section onto the table. “Plus which, I know for a fact that this woman is not a Globe regular—she sends stuff in on a freelance basis, and they take it if they’ve got a slow news day and if they think she’s got something interesting to say, however uninformed she might be, but....”

By now the section was on the table and Bruce was starting to read the column. It wasn’t long before Clark saw the jaw drop.

“Now, you understand,” Clark said, enunciating the words slowly and aiming them directly at an ear. “This is just a column by one person, and the affair at the local city hall was a crowd—”

“The muscle-head in—no, no, no, no,” Bruce almost groaned, skimming down the rest of the column.

“Written by a part-time columnist in the wrong city. It’s not even on the front page. I doubt–”

“You’re not *defending* her, are you?” Bruce challenged. He had pulled off his glasses and all but tossed them onto the table.

“I’m telling you this is small time compared to what went on at the city hall for two and a half hours—”

“Clark, calling someone human is one thing. Questioning their intelligence is quite another!”

Clark hadn’t been keeping a straight face through the exchange, and now he couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A column written by someone who apparently has no knowledge of what Superman does isn’t going to hurt me!”

“Calling you nothing more than a muscle-head?” Bruce repeated in astonishment.

“That’s ‘muscle-head in spandex’, if you please,” Clark said, trying to deliver it primly but deteriorating into a laugh by the end.

Bruce turned away abruptly, covering his ears. “Don’t repeat that,” he breathed.

“She got a hold of one piece of information, Bruce,” he said, trying to sail some sense into the other man’s ear. “One piece of info, and the part-time columnist went with it. Really. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a reporter, a good one, and I’ve been such for several years, now. I see this happen all the time. Truly, this isn’t a problem,” he said sincerely. “The people who know me....heck, most people know I can speak any language on the face of this earth,” he added, almost under his breath. “The knowledge I have about what happens to the molecular structure of most physical materials on this planet when they are heated or frozen—that alone spans several ‘ology’ barriers right there—”

“This column cannot go unanswered–wait,” Bruce said, interrupting himself as he focused on the newspaper again. “Where’s the editor? Is this Harring’s paper?” He reached for the front section, but Clark slid it out of reach behind him on the table.

“I highly doubt that the part-time junior reporter needs to be cuffed–”

“Oh, now she’s junior, too. Not just part-time.”

“Bruce, let it go,” Clark said, slicing a hand through the air. “She’s small fry.”

“And so is your intelligence, apparently,” Bruce returned sarcastically, pointing to the newspaper section.

“In the opinion.....of one.....part-time.....columnist,” Clark said slowly and clearly.

Bruce stared at him a moment, then abruptly walked down the length of the table, finding the wastebasket by the door. He reached in and pulled out the tightly crumpled section of the Metropolis paper.

“What are you doing?” Clark asked, going serious as Bruce turned to the table with it, beginning to pick it apart. Bruce didn’t respond, and after a moment, Clark was intrigued enough to come over and help sort out the dense, softball-sized wad. They sorted it out enough to flatten it to a reasonable degree. Bruce reached over and took the section from the Globe and set it next to the Metro paper, leaning on the table to stare at both of them.

“What?” Clark tried again.

Eventually Bruce backed up with a sigh. “According to my Myers-Briggs, I shouldn’t be able to do this, but I am perceiving a problem,” he said, self-mocking. “We have an issue here.”

Clark looked from one paper to the other. “We’ve got....some heavily misguided.....fans?” he tried, wincing at the poor taste in words.

“Deeper than that,” Bruce responded. “I think people want to know what we think about—no. People want to know what Batman and Superman think about each other.”

Clark frowned, thinking. “You mean.....they think we’re rivals?”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said. “I’m not sure. The Metro side seems to think I’m some kind of fear monger,” he said slowly. “Gotham.....”

Clark raised a hand. “Simpleton who uses power from a distance,” he volunteered. “Recall we’re going on very little evidence, here,” he qualified as Bruce turned away, shaking his head dismissively. “One demonstration and one column.”

“Actually....” Bruce leaned on one of the chairs in the room. “I’ve seen evidence to that effect before,” he admitted in a small voice. “I guess I was kind of hoping that it wouldn’t have come up.”

“Evidence?” Clark asked.

Bruce gave a one-shouldered shrug, staring out the opposite window. “For a little while the Times had a reporter who was originally from Metro, one of their crime reporters, and I guess he wasn’t paying attention when he was here. I’d heard that he tried to get some sort of exchange going with a Metro paper—I have no idea which one–some kind of debate. It didn’t get far at all before he lost his position.”

“Debate?” Clark questioned.

Bruce shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Like....who can take who?” Clark wondered to himself. He intended the question as entirely rhetorical, but the glance he got from the other man both suggested that he had surmised correctly and warned him against pursuing the subject any further. “Alright. Here’s what I’m seeing,” Clark said, interrupting the dangerous flow of conversation. “Metro sees you both as some kind of threat, and a pale imitation,” he said, focusing on the papers as he pulled back a chair and sat. “They also see me as an exclusive property, one they’re jealously guarding,” he continued as Bruce wandered over, looking at the papers as well. “Gotham sees you as the brains of the operation, the human potential you earned as opposed to the abilities I was born with, and while they don’t view me as a threat, they certainly....” he paused for words.

Bruce snorted. “Sneering?” he muttered, leaning over the Gotham section.

“I think they don’t see me as the investigative type,” Clark said slowly. “They focus on the physical ability and not the intellectual. The physical aspect is overwhelming to them, overpowering everything else.”

“I will admit that seeing something that looks like a human take a flight without the plane.....it clears your mind. Of every other conscious thought.”

They both looked at the papers in silence for a few moments, then. Clark looked back through that part of the building at one point, checking on their privacy. When he looked back, Bruce was slowly reaching for the papers, turning them in his direction a little.

“They tend to equate us, first,” he said softly. “They’ve also picked sides, almost like sporting fans or debate teams. We may not be rivals, but the two cities have their partisan camps, and *they* are certainly rivals.”

After a moment, Clark nodded. “So they need to be shown that we aren’t rivals—”

“—and more importantly, neither of us cares for these types of activities,” Bruce finished.

Clark sat forward then, idly rapping a thumb on the table. “Okay....I’m biased, but I’m seeing newspapers in front of me. It’d be a piece of cake for me to do a press conference to tell—Superman,” he specified, at a questioning look from the other man. “What do you think?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to follow you there,” he said, frowning. “I’ve never done one.”

“You mean Batman.”

“Right.”

“Okay.......open letter?” Clark tried. The idea got a slow, sidelong look from the other man. “A letter sent to the major papers from both of us?”

Bruce stared at the tabletop. “No,” he said finally. “The issues....the letter idea I think would work,” he added quickly. “I don’t think a combined letter...”

“You’re right,” Clark said, staring absently across the conference room. “We each have to present our separate cases to our own groups of locals, so yeah, two separate letters. One from you, one from me, and each sent to the respective local papers.”

“No other types of agencies. Not television or radio—just the print media. More than that might inflame the debate, and we want to cut it off.”

Clark nodded, rocking idly in the chair. “And specifically, we want to address....”

“....what they’re debating,” Bruce finished. “Better yet, *why* are they debating?” he added, thinking out loud. He pulled the Gotham paper over closer and absently reached for his glasses. “....‘versus a human whose life is theoretically at risk every time he faces someone’....” he quoted from the column.

Clark leaned forward, smoothing out the Metropolis section. “...‘a truly powerful being’.....Definition of hero,” he said abruptly, looking at the other man.

Bruce stared at him. “You want my definition of hero?” he questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Probably the same as yours.”

“Being.....?”

“Police....SWAT, fire.....emergency room personnel....”

Clark was nodding. “Child protection, social workers.....”

“Drug counselors—but what are you after?” Bruce asked.

“Where are you and I on that list?”

Bruce stared out the opposite windows. “Not on that list. I don’t see myself as a hero,” he said frankly, looking at Clark. “I also think we’ve had this discussion before.”

“I think we first need to define what we are before we can explain to the sign-wavers what we are not,” Clark said, prodding the Metro section with a finger. “I guess I’ve always seen myself as a kind of first responder.”

After a moment, Bruce shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have trouble coming up with a definition for me.”

“Thing is, we don’t have a lot in common,” Clark said softly, already thinking ahead to the next point. “*What* we do is a little different, I think, and our *motivations* are very different,” he mused. “If we can’t.....both call the same definition home.....”

“I think our situations are dissimilar enough that we can only try to address the issues on our respective sides of the fence,” Bruce said slowly. “These two cities have completely different phenomena occurring, we evolved separately, and our motivations, targets, and intended outcomes don’t have a lot of overlap. Communicate this to the sign-wavers and column-writers.”

“That should take at least some of the steam out of the rivals debate,” Clark said, nodding again. “Ok. Now what about the issue of them responding to what’s going on in the opposite city?”

Bruce pulled back one of the chairs and sat, slowly cradling his head in his hands as though nursing a headache. “In writing?” he asked quietly.

Clark grinned. “Yes. Gently but firmly. No hiding in the paper’s parking ramp and scaring the daylights out of the writer.”

“That’s a pretty appealing idea,” Bruce said, his head still down.

Clark gave a low laugh. “Clean it up, now,” he said. “Straightforward. We’ve got some people to educate.”

Bruce looked over at him. “Alright—you’re in front of the city hall, and right there are the protesters, right in front of you. They see you and approach you. And you.....” He swept a presenting hand around to Clark.

“Scare the daylights out of them,” came the mischievous answer, pulling a snort of laughter out of both of them.

“Seriously,” Bruce said after a moment. “What would you say to them?”

Clark’s smile slowly faded as he looked off to the side. “I guess.....I would tell them that many different people contribute to the betterment of our societies in many different capacities, and none of them does it flying solo. I may have physical abilities that outstrip any human, but in my experience, bench-pressing a loaded semi-truck doesn’t catch mob lieutenants.”

“But it will certainly help the person trapped under the truck,” Bruce finished with a nod of certainty. 

Clark smiled. “Point. I’m not prohibited from sorting through evidence from a series of murders any more than you’re not allowed to jump off buildings.”

“Uh, that’s provided I’ve got cable and a hook,” Bruce added uneasily.

“Well.....”

“Understood,” Bruce assured with a nod. “Just making a point.”

“Alright. I think that—wait,” Clark interrupted himself. “Your turn,” he said with another smile. “You’ve got a chance to fire a few words at the columnist.” He sat back, content to wait, but it was several moments before the other man spoke.

“I think what bothered me most was the condescension in the column,” Bruce said with a frown. “She’s treating you like some kind of—idiot savant. And she gave me a complete pass. She knows Emilio was active in Gotham because she mentioned it in her column. She could just as easily have said I gave you my dirty work. And in essence, this is true,” he added, looking over at Clark apologetically. “I should have caught—”

Clark waved a dismissive hand. “Off the subject,” he said impatiently. “Doesn’t matter. She’s focusing on the fact that this ‘all-powerful being from another world’ needed some intelligence to track this man,” he said, appropriate mocking in his voice. “She just hasn’t done her homework.”

“I’ll say,” Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward, again resting his forehead against his hands. “They have no right to be commenting on this to begin with,” he said irritably after another pause. “The argument that I’ve earned it or that I’m more physically vulnerable–that just doesn’t cut it. It’s nobody’s business that I do weights or that I studied at the Shaolin Temple. It’s how you use what you’ve got. And you *can* be *hurt*,” he emphasized. “I’m not just talking kryptonite. You can’t tell me that there’s no danger in......going into the upper stratosphere to meet a meteor, or–or dealing with high voltage. But physical risk doesn’t define hero any more than tragedy does. It’s defined as much by the circumstances as by the qualities of the person effecting the change. The pathologists may just be doing their jobs when they correctly identify the bacteria, but this makes them the rescuing hero to the family in the surgical waiting room. At the same time, though, this doesn’t mean that the surgeon at the table is deficient in education or intelligence.”

“It means they have their specialties,” Clark put in, nodding. “One person calls the shots at the table, and another person....passes along the mob intelligence,” he finished with a slow smile, but the irony was lost on other man at the moment.

“You say that, they’ll cut holes in your argument,” Bruce said warningly. “They’ve got you as a muscle specialist, some all-powerful being who’s never at physical risk.”

“The stakes are too high for them to see,” Clark said haltingly. “It’s like...like they don’t know the damage that can be done by the proverbial train wreck.”

“And not only that, it blinds them to the probability mechanics and the intelligence behind it. I could almost say you can’t fault them for the oversight, but at the same time, that doesn’t give them the right to comment on the mechanics and communication that go on in order to effect an arrest. Plus which, there’s the comment on the timing of your capture. The solo maneuver wasn’t to claim single credit—why would you do that and then mention that someone provided you with information? It was to minimize risk to others and to also catch the associates with him in order to avoid tipping off the pre-arranged suicides common in those mob families. The deaths are avoided, and you’ve also got that many potential sources of information—”

He trailed off at Clark’s laughter. “So you’ve got more than a few things ready for her,” Clark commented, shaking his head. “Ok....”

In answer, Bruce slid the newspaper section over and balanced an index finger on it as an exclamation point. “This column is insulting. It’s embarrassing. The writer is grossly misinformed. I find these behaviors breathtakingly juvenile at the *least*, and I’m looking at an opportunity to end it. For both of us.”

“They did serve it up to us on a platter, didn’t they,” Clark said, an almost malicious quality to his smile as he spread a hand across the crumpled Metro section. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I think I’m going to enjoy delivering my letter in person,” Bruce said, pushing deeper into his chair and leveling a stare out the opposite windows.

“Huh?”

“This doesn’t mean I’m putting away that parking ramp idea....”

“Actually....Now that you say that, maybe we *should* deliver our letters in person. It would guarantee them as legitimate,” Clark explained at the surprised glance from Bruce. “It’s also kind of time-sensitive, and that’d be the quickest way.”

Bruce nodded slowly, thoughtful. Then a hint of a smile returned to his face. “So you’re giving me permission....”

“You do that, they’ll call you a fear monger,” Clark said, almost teasing, intentionally echoing Bruce’s earlier argument.

For a moment, the hint of a smile widened, then he looked directly at Clark, serious. “Yes, I do use fear,” he admitted directly. “It’s a good weapon, especially for someone who won’t touch guns.”

“So, we should get on this,” Clark said, his voice a little strained as he got to his feet, stretching. He reached to tap the papers on the table. “Because of the timing, we should probably......by this time tomorrow, at the latest, see if we can each have a letter—you’re here ‘til the sixth, right?” he asked as Bruce got to his feet.

“At least. It depends on how the meeting with the city council goes tomorrow, but it could be longer.”

“Alright. I’ll find you and we’ll see what we’ve got.” He gathered the newspapers while Bruce collected his portfolio from the other end of the table. As an afterthought, he shot a quick glance through the walls and doors, checking on their privacy. As the other man neared the doors, he reached for the door handle. “I’ll get the door,” he murmured. “ ‘Cause, y’know, you’re probably not strong enough....”

“Careful—that’s a complicated mechanism, there,” came the equally quiet comment. They both ducked into a sudden laugh.

“We can’t talk like that, not even in jest,” Bruce managed, covering his mouth and shooting quick looks down the hallway.

“No, but we can certainly have a laugh at their expense,” Clark said, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

“Well, stow the laugh for now–we’ve got company,” Bruce said, seeing silhouettes down the hallway. “Find me, tomorrow night,” he said, nodding to Clark.

“Alright—you’re at the Crown Suites, right?”

“Right. For cover, it’s an informal interview.”

“Deal. Catch you then.”

 

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this letter in response to a demonstration that occurred on the steps of the Metropolis City Hall on the afternoon of the 2nd of this month. Two days previous to this, I had captured a prominent member of a mob family and delivered him, along with several of his accomplices, to the Metropolis Police Department. A short, informal press conference followed, at which I made some brief comments. One of my comments was that Gotham’s Batman provided me with timely information that enabled me to positively identify this man and successfully locate him. This comment prompted a number of people to stage a demonstration at the City Hall, showing their displeasure with Batman’s involvement.

Had I known this event was going on, I would have acted just as swiftly as I did with the arrest. The principles behind the demonstration were in err. I do not agree with them and I do not sanction them. I am grateful to be living on this planet, and I wish to use my abilities to help people, but the fact that I am unique among you in terms of race by no means implies that I am the only one who can do this. Batman and I have discussed this situation, and neither of us is eager to claim the epithet ‘hero’. It’s only natural to note the general similarities between us–two autonomous individuals who help out where we can, as we can, when the need arises—but we have differing talents, knowledge, physical skills, motivations, and targets. Putting it bluntly, we are not rivals, and I find the suggestion of any kind of contest or competition between us to be foolish and irrelevant.

To answer the slogans and placards, I am not the first or one and only, nor is he merely a “fear monger” and “punisher”. Those who make this claim obviously were not in attendance earlier this year when he gently talked a 14-year-old HIV-positive boy out of suicide on a bridge in Gotham. They are not around to see when, on the coldest nights of the year in Gotham, he routinely commandeers public transportation and civic buildings to rescue the homeless. For that matter, neither were they around when I began questioning a kidnapper in free-fall at approximately 10,000 feet this past spring. Those involved in high-level crimes, ranging from the sex and slave trade to mob families and drug rings, don’t respond to requests for information unless their lives are flashing before their eyes. So yes, both of us may use fear to accomplish a given task. Incidentally, the man answered my question at about 2,500 feet, but I didn’t reach for him until 500 feet. Why? Because at the time I had reason to believe—and further investigation confirmed my suspicions–that this man was involved in the sex trade industry going on in the second- and third-world countries. My emotional responses to events around me are virtually identical to any human’s, and I admit to some feelings of vengeance in this instance.

I’m flattered that so many noble qualities are ascribed to me, but I am not perfect any more than I am a deity seeking to start another religion on this planet. I am simply using my abilities to try to help people. All of us, including Batman, have qualities and abilities that we can use for the good of all. I would like to respectfully suggest that the protesters at the City Hall and all like-minded people begin displaying the honorable qualities they attribute to me–namely, kindness, compassion, and wisdom—and see Batman through these eyes. He is a singularly capable human being, physically as well as mentally, and he has my deepest respect.

 

To Whom It May Concern:  
I do not often make contact with the general public, but recent events in Metropolis combined with a column by Ms. Krista Bakker in the Gotham Globe dated the 3rd of this month demand a response. Following Superman’s capture of Armanno Emilio in Metropolis, there was a press conference covering the event. Superman mentioned that he had made use of some information I had provided him with in order to identify this man. Upon receipt of this information, Ms. Bakker saw fit to sit down at her computer and create a piece of writing that contained not one piece of sound information. Her contention is that Superman does not have the intelligence to “solve” these crimes. Madam, he *did* solve this crime. He didn’t come to me asking for a photo of this man or even his last known whereabouts. He came asking about fingerprints, DNA, travel patterns, and antique African weaponry, of which Emilio is a collector. This last item was unknown to me. Apparently there had been a number of pieces swindled from private collections in Metropolis, and Superman was able to follow the trail of these weapons back to one man through the study of tire tracks, fiber traces, and vehicle registration data. He also used his ability to see through any barrier or object in order to track one of the pieces. Ms. Bakker claims that this is a “deus ex machina technique, one of the many that save Superman when his intellect has failed him”. Ms. Bakker, we are not writing a novel. Perhaps your intellect should note the fact that some of the pieces were verified by Superman through his unique close visual examination of the pieces and noting the bacteria, dust, pollen, and other micro traces, and cross-referencing this information with knowledge of flora and historical data about the use of different styles of hunting weapons used in various regions of Africa throughout human history. Some of the pieces were camouflaged in piles of brush hauled in trucks, making the close inspection necessary.

In all honesty, it should also be noted that African weapons had been stolen in Gotham in recent years as well, but I did not follow them. Weapons in countries that have a climate and geography relatively challenging for human survival are more suited to hunting. They are less lethal than the forged blade of a samurai, for example, and because of the type of wood that many are constructed of, they are also quite fragile in their antique state, not posing a serious threat to human life. Therefore the thefts in Gotham did not receive my attention. I do not make this point in order to defend myself. Through the somewhat more laborious “human” process, I could have examined the pieces myself and possibly reached the same conclusions, but this is conjecture. The fact remains that Emilio was active here in Gotham before he moved on to Metropolis, and this point is mentioned in the column without any accompanying accusation of incompetence on my part. The antique weaponry was merely a side interest for him and unknown to me. I was searching for him for far more serious reasons—his mob connections. Emilio was quoted in the press as saying he left Gotham in order to escape my attention, and that he certainly did—out of the frying pan in Gotham and into the fire of Metropolis, to be examined and researched, and in short order caught, by Superman.

Most disturbing to me, however, are the comments Ms. Bakker goes on to make concerning the nature of heroism. I am addressing this point because many have debated this in different arenas in the past years, not just Ms. Bakker, so the following thoughts are addressed to the general public as well. Let me first state that the term “hero” is foreign to me. Many people seem to be under the mistaken notion that physical risk and adversity are what defines a hero. I see no need to quantify or classify this concept in the context of the “versus” debate. A great deal of time and energy has been spent comparing and contrasting the two of us, however, and Ms. Bakker states the following in her column:

 

Batman has the same impact in Gotham that Superman has in Metropolis,  
and yet he is human, one of us. Superman is an alien with incomprehensible  
physical abilities. This is a being that is completely impervious to physical  
danger, versus a human whose life is theoretically at risk every time he faces  
someone on the streets of Gotham. We idolize Superman for flying in and  
taking the mob man, but the machine guns are shooting rubber bands, not  
fatal bullets. Would he act as fearlessly if he were as mortal as Batman?

 

Firstly: The “same impact” in one city or the other–please don’t tell me someone’s been callous enough to devise a tracking method. I don’t begrudge the media’s right to report on events or the public’s right to follow the stories, but surely there must be something more productive to track. This is not a bowl game. Secondly: Yes, I am far more likely to be harmed by a bullet than he is. Are you questioning his courage? Think on this—If you live on this planet, he has saved your life. I find it astonishing that people can react to his imperviousness, speed, vision, or any ability with indifference. I am even more amazed that people can reach the conclusion that because I do not have these abilities, I am somehow “better”. Is being human now seen as a handicap? Am I performing a trick for applause? Is this pity? You may run to the dictionaries for a definition of the word “hero” and debate as to who more readily fulfills this or that definition, but I would be only too pleased to transfer this adulation to those members of humanity who attempt to ensure our safety on a constant basis. I would include everyone from private security forces, law enforcement, and forensics experts to emergency room personnel, child protection workers, and crisis counselors.

Before you close your dictionaries, however, take note of one fact: Nowhere in the varied definitions of the word “hero” is it mentioned that one is thus entitled to show contempt for the accomplishments of another, regardless of what you perceive their handicaps or advantages to be. It is perfectly acceptable to have opinions and to discuss your opinions with others. It is not acceptable to direct disparaging, insinuating, personal remarks at someone who has benefited humanity so much. Superman should not require this defense of mine, and I do not believe he will ask demonstrators from either city for an apology. In the future, however, I ask that those who insist on engaging in this pointless “versus” debate exercise some intelligence of their own and eliminate the negativity, condescension, and contempt from their arguments. There is no place for it in a debate that is already meaningless and unnecessary. Or at the very least, research the situation more thoroughly before voicing an opinion.


End file.
